


To Touch*

by DidiWednesday



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-05-01 16:54:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19181953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DidiWednesday/pseuds/DidiWednesday
Summary: Mahariel keeps doing... a thing.And Zevran doesn't understand it.Until one day, he does.





	To Touch*

**Author's Note:**

> *aka FUCK.png cuz that's what I saved the file.
> 
> Inspired by a sketch of Zevran and my Soufei Mahariel that I commissioned! It can be found here: https://elvhenahhh.tumblr.com/post/185523656723/sketch-of-zevran-and-my-soufei-mahariel-done-by
> 
> That's also my DA tumblr. Feel free to come yell at me there too!

The first time Mahariel did it, Zevran was confused as to _why_.

It was after the debacle at Kinloch Hold. She had seen him in Fade, stretched out and being trained – being tortured – by the older, initiated Crows. She hadn't said anything then as focused as she was on rounding up the rest of their companions and getting out as quickly as possible.

Afterwards, he could feel her gaze on her, heavy from across the campfire. When he could no longer stand pretending not to notice, he finally looked up and shot a grin and cheery wave in her direction. To his surprise, she rose from her seat next to Alistair and moved to sit next to him instead. He was also next expecting to hear her next words, “Tell me about Antiva.” So he did. 

As he regaled her on Antiva's treasures and beauty, he could see the lines of her shoulders start to relax and a soft smile spread across her face. It gave him some joy to be able to relieve the Warden of her burdens even for a few moments though he would admit this thought to no one. It was as he was describing living in the apartment by the leather-making district, packed in like rats with the other prospective initiates that the heaviness began to re-enter her gaze. 

He flirted with her at the end as is his habit and received nothing but warmth from her end, but the heaviness didn't seem to leave her. At a loss, he ended with, “Now, if it is all the same to you, I would prefer not to speak more of Antiva. It makes me wistful and hungry for a proper meal.” She nodded absently but didn't move away from him.

Then, moving slowly enough to telegraph her movement, she laid one hand on the back of his neck, the other on his chest, and drew him to her. For a fleeting moment, he thought they were to kiss, and he licked his lips in anticipation. She gently pressed their foreheads together, noses bumping as well, and then just... stayed there. Eyes closed, breathing softly. 

And Zevran... Zevran was even more tense than the day he had his first kiss. Or when he first slept with another. Or his first kill. He could feel his face flushing, and he couldn't stop flexing his hands on his own lap. What was he supposed to do now???

They held the position only for a few moments, but it felt like hours. Her thumb swept a few times across his nape. His face was so close to her hers that he could see little flecks of dust on her eyelashes. Her hand was gently flexing and relaxing, and he suddenly realized that she was getting his breath to align with hers.

Finally, she pulled away. The hand on his chest returned to her lap, but the hand on his neck moved to his cheek. She paused to look at his face, and whatever she saw there caused her to smile brilliantly and pat his cheek.

Then, she was gone. Moved off to talk to Alistair again or Sten or... whomever. Leaving Zevran with the ghost of her touch and a lot of confusion.

\----------------------

It was afterwards that Zevran remembered that it was called “donking,” a term coined by Alistair, of course.

Zevran had witnessed it was after a particularly difficult battle in the Brecilian Forest involving a revenant and several annoyingly active undead. Alistair had made some depreciating quip as he was wont to do. Something about nearly dying or living to die a different day instead, etc. For a moment, all the Warden did was stare at her companion with a furrowed expression for long enough that Alistair put up his hands and chuckled awkwardly. Then, she strode forward, clasped her hand on the back of his neck, and pushed their foreheads together. From where he stood, Zevran could see Alistair's wide-eyed and cross-eyed look though the Warden had closed her eyes. He couldn't hear, but he saw her lips moving. As she spoke, Alistair's expression went rueful then smooth as he also closed his eyes. She pressed their heads together for a moment more before stepping away, nodding curtly to Zevran and the bemused Wynne, and continuing the way through the forest.

Whatever it was, it was an act of fond companionship... he guessed?

\--------------------------

The second time...

The second time was after Taliesen.

Zevran was standing over Taliesen's dead body, and... it was good. Zevran was alive, and Taliesen was dead, and the Warden was alive, and all this was good, but.

A touch to his arm finally drew his gaze away from the corpse. Mahariel's golden eyes scanned his face though she said nothing. Zevran just smiled wryly and shrugged. She exhaled, loudly, a quick puff of air through her nose, a gesture that Zevran was quickly recognizing as fond affection based on how many times she reacted the same to Alistair or to any of their companions' antics.

Keeping one hand on his arm, the other went to his neck to reel him in again, their foreheads colliding with the softest _'donk.'_

This time, he closed his eyes. In the dark, his world was reduced to the hands on his body, the breath against his lips, the face so close to his own. He reached out and placed his hands on the Warden's hips, and she responded by taking a step closer, bringing her warm body all the closer to his. Fingers scritched at the base of his skull causing him to hum tunelessly. 

The sound of Wynne coughing “politely” and Sten's silent but palpable judgment finally drew them apart once more. With a final pat of his cheek, Mahariel stepped and turned away to regroup with their companions. At the last moment, Zevran caught her hand, tangling their fingers together. She turned back to him, golden gaze meeting his once more. This time, she was the confused one. 

He brought their joined hands to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “Better him than you, my dear warden,” he murmured against her skin.

They had slept together a few times at this point, but neither spent the whole night in either's tent, nor had they kissed, but. It was building. Something was building between them even if Zevran wasn't exactly sure what.

Mahariel exhaled fondly again and squeezed his fingers before finally drawing and turning away.

\------------------------------

And now.

Now it is the day after the Archdemon's defeat. Denerim is still rebuilding, but for now, it is quiet in the room they share. Zevran stretches out across the bed and is vaguely disconcerted to find himself alone. The movement of the curtains quickly draws his attention, and he can see the distorted outline of his love standing out on the balcony.

Despite the apparent sunshine, he still takes a few minutes to get fully dressed. The day he trusts the appearance of Ferelden weather is the day he eats his leather boot. He can hear faint tittering outside, no doubt his love, mocking him for his sensitivity. ( _“It's not that cold, Zevran.” “Says the barbaric Dalish woman who has had all her life to adjust to this horrible weather.” “Ay, come here then, you baby.” “My, what a soft body you have. “All the better to warm you with, vhenan.”_ )

Fully dressed, he rises and makes his way to the balcony. As expected, Soufei is there, waiting for him, elbows propped against the railing. Gone are the heavy, enigmatic gazes; now, she greets him with a smile, bright and beautiful. He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers trail along the braid she's started weaving into her hair and gently press against the gold earring in her ear, not the prince's that he once gave her, but a new one that they chose together whose partner he now wears. ( _“Gold like your eyes,” he whispers. “Gold like your hair,” she replies._ )

Stepping in close, he cradles her jaw with both hands. It would be so easy to lean in and kiss her as they've done before, as he's done the dozens if not hundreds of times since they've affirmed their love for each other. Already, he regrets the time lost, the time wasted pretending when they could've been kissing instead.

Indeed, he's paused for long enough that her gaze has turned into curiosity. Her head tilted slightly to one side, brow arched. She raises her hands to grasp the V of his collar, but she does nothing more than that. 

Finally, he decides and uses his gentle grip to draw her closer. Forehead against forehead, noses bumping, soft breath against open lips. He doesn't look away, nor does she, too busy taking in all of her beauty. The black of her vallaslin, the flecks of deeper gold in her eyes, the flutter of her eyelashes as she blinks. 

Sharing the same space, breathing the same air, reveling in the intimacy of it. Now, Zevran understands why she did it so long ago.

“I-” he hesitates. He knows what he feels, but to say it...

She smiles, granting him mercy. “I know,” she says. She understands, and this is one of the reasons why he loves her so. “Ar lath ma, vhenan. You can say it when you're ready.”

He swallows around the lump in his throat and nods against her. 

Later in the day, there will be a celebration honoring the Hero of Ferelden.

Later, there will be boons and nobles and politics.

Later, there will be an order to rebuild and a guild to answer to.

But for now.

Holding each other close, reveling in the mere fact that they will live another day to live, to laugh, to love.

For now, this is enough.


End file.
